


Fruit Roll-Up

by rory_kent (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF John Watson, Bullying, Child Abuse, Domestic Fluff, John Watson is a Good Parent, Kidlock, Kidnapping, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, papa lestrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24484711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/rory_kent
Summary: John and Greg are adopted parents to the most perfect, brilliant, sensitive little Sherlock. Bullied and scared, Sherlock is abducted, leaving his daddy and papa to find him and save him before it's too late.
Relationships: Greg Lestrade/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes & Greg Lestrade & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	1. a bad dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! just so everyone knows, this is not ageplay- Sherlock is Greg and John's adopted son  
> hope this fic finds you well <3

Sherlock awoke with a panic. His forehead was sweaty and he felt warmth between his legs. The nightmare had been so scary, but the tingling uneasiness he felt now was worse. All around his room were black shapes, scary black shapes and his imagination filled in the details of monsters and aliens and murderers like on daddy’s special t.v. show that Sherlock wasn’t supposed to see. He whimpered.  _ Daddy! _ He was gonna be so mad at Sherlock for wetting the bed. So mad he probably would lock Sherlock in his room forever and ever and hate him. Sherlock carefully tucked his head under the blanket, heart thumping, hoping the monsters wouldn’t see him. Once in his little fort he let the tears fall, the heat of his breath condensating on his cheeks and adding to the stream of salty tears that made his pillow wet. But he couldn’t sit here in his urine forever, he was starting to itch and he felt hot and uncomfortable. Sherlock’s mind plagued him as he slowly crawled out of bed, every footstep he was sure he was going to die. He was going to be swallowed up whole and never see Daddy again. But soon he made it to the hallway and made a dash for it, slipping on the hardwood and crash landing into the door of Daddy’s room. 

John heard a loud crash and his military training took over. He hopped out of bed and quietly unlocked the bottom drawer of his side table, pulling his Browning L9 in his hands, slowly making his way to the door, breathing steady. Greg was at a conference till tomorrow and Sherlock was 3 meters down the hall. He would shoot the intruder, get Sherlock. He swung open his door, gun aimed, and found the hallway empty. Then he looked down to find his son rolled tight in a ball, eyes closed, tiny hands pressed against his ears. John sighed heavily and let his nerves dissolve as he put the gun safely back away, feeling quite foolish. 

“Sherlock Watson, why are you awake?” John said sternly, kneeling down to his level. Sherlock’s eyes popped open and he jumped up, sobbing and explaining the whole thing. 

“...m’m sorry, Daddy, please don’t lock me in my room please!” Sherlock pleaded as John sighed and pulled Locky into a hug, rubbing circles in his back. 

“Shh, Locky, it’s okay, daddy’s here. You’re okay.” John whispered as Sherlock sniffled into his shoulder, leaving a little puddle of snot on his pajamas. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, okay bud?” Sherlock nodded and John scooped him up and looked at his watch. 4:55 am. Frick. He flicked on the washroom light and put Sherlock down on the closed toilet. He turned on the tap of the bath and tested the water, not too hot, not too cold, before standing and ruffling Locky’s hair. “You get undressed while I tidy your bed and get you some clothes okay mate?” Sherlock nodded and took off his blue and white striped PJ’s. John appeared moments later with a fluffy pink towel and another set of PJ’s. 

“Go on, get in,” John said kindly as he turned off the water. Sherlock slid in and sat in the warm water, still feeling sicky from the dream. John squirted some of Sherlock’s body wash onto a loofa and lathered it in his hands before washing Sherlock’s back and chest, handing it to Sherlock for the other areas, and rinsing him off. Then he put a little squirt of that yummy smelling strawberry shampoo that always calmed Locky down into his hands and worked it through his hair, feeling Sherlock relax under him, he rinsed it with a cup of water, careful not to get a drop in Sherlock’s tightly closed eyes. Once his boy was sufficiently clean he pulled him out and wrapped him in a towel, locking his arms in and heaving him into the air to look in the mirror. Sherlock giggled feverishly and looked into the mirror, face pressed to daddy’s, his wet curls stuck to his forehead. 

“There’s my little fruit roll up!” John shouted and Sherlock giggled and giggled and tucked his head into John’s neck. John smiled and set his boy down on the tile, drying him off and rubbing the towel through his soft inky curls. God, he hoped those didn’t go away when he grew up. He pulled Sherlock into his pants and trousers, buttoned shirt and little plaid tie, finally pulling his school jumper over his head. They might as well get up now. “Okay Sherlock, you remember how I taught you to brush your teeth?” John pulled out the little stool for his baby boy. 

“30 seconds front top, 30 seconds front bottom, 30 seconds sides top, 30 seconds sides bottom!” Sherlock said with a smile. Sherlock was such a smart kid, He was 6 but he was already reading at a 7th grade level, always asking questions, always tinkering with things, dissecting his toys. John smiled proudly, placing his hand on his shoulder. 

“Good lad! Now brush brush brush and daddy’ll go get dressed.” Sherlock nodded and stepped up to the sink, grabbing his One Direction toothbrush and pushing the button for the music to start. He brushed and brushed and brushed and brushed, doing it a bit longer than he should for Daddy. Sherlock spit it out and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, padding to daddy’s room. 

John had just finished buttoning his shirt when Sherlock appeared in his doorway. Sherlock smiled at John brightly, and John scooped him up and carried him into the main room of the flat. He made some breakfast while Sherlock sat sprawled in the black chair, legs dangling over one side with a book in his lap. 

“Breakfast!” John shouted and Sherlock dog-eared his book before coming and clammering up onto a stool and sitting at the kitchen bench. John dropped a plate of eggs, beans and toast in front of him and Sherlock dug in happily with his knife and fork. He munched happily as John sipped his coffee and ate some toast. “What were you reading?” John inquired, taking a big drink and finishing his mug, getting up to pour some more. Sherlock babbled about his book and John listened intently. Soon time had drifted away and Sherlock was laying on his tummy in the living room reading again as John washed their plates. 

“Okay mate, let’s go to the shops and then to school.” Sherlock’s hair stood up on the back of his neck and his stomach clenched nervously. He scurried off and John looked at his spot on the floor and Sherlock was gone. He sighed, checking his watch again. 6:01. He went down the hall, starting to get annoyed. “Sherlock! Let’s go” John shouted sternly, checking Locky’s room and his room and the bathroom. He was starting to get worried, as well as ticked off. “Sherlock! Come out here, now.” John said in his army-captain-dad voice, and upon hearing a shuffle in the hall closet, he took a deep sigh.

“ONE!” John said crossly. Nothing. “Two…” John shifted on his hip, aggravated . Three…” 

John was pissed. Sherlock was being impossible and John was not having this. Not after his highness had woken him up early too. He stomped to the closet and swung the door open, trying to control his anger. Trying to not be like his father. Sherlock was crying, nose pressed in the corner. John gripped him firmly in the arm and dragged him into the living room and set him on the sofa. 

“Sit. Down. and try not to smart off.” Sherlock’s eyes were saucers as he watched daddy grab his lunchbox from the bench and give him that solid-eyed-stern-daddy look that made him want to cry. “Now let’s  _ go. _ ” Sherlock followed obediently, gut twisting. School was scary. Daddy was scary too. He wanted to cry again. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs, Sherlock had a few tears on his cheeks. John wrapped him in his blue coat that touched his knees, and tucked his grey knit scarf around his neck. John sighed and wiped Sherlock’s bleary cheeks with his thumb, holding his head in his hands. 

“Locky, I’m quite cross, but I’m not angry at  _ you.  _ I love you. Loads. But I need you to behave, and you need to go to school.” Sherlock mumbled and nodded and as soon as they negotiated his black school shoes. John scooped him up and carried him on his hip out the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adore your comments and kudos!  
> *kisses*


	2. please don't go, daddy

When they got to the grocery John let Locky ride in the trolley as they went down the aisles, Sherlock bumbling little stories and observations as they went, reaching out to smack the bags of rice and attempting to sneak sweets in the basket with him. Once they were done, John put most of the heavy things in his bag and gave Sherlock all the light things so he could carry it too. Sherlock struggled to heft it, using two hands to hold the handle and they continued their walk to school. Things were brilliant until they reached the front gate. Sherlock’s feet locked up at the sight of the plaid skirts and blazers and knee socks and he dropped his bag and magnetically attached to John’s knees and hid his face. John rolled his eyes softly and the other parents gave him a knowing look. John knealed down and Sherlock’s little hands reached up and gripped his shirt.

“Please don’t go daddy” Sherlock whispered softly, sniffling. John gave him a tight hug. 

“Locky, we do this every day. And I always come back and get you. You’ll have so much fun, I promise. Ms. Donovan is a very nice teacher, and you said you had a friend in your class,” 

“Molly.”

“Molly would be so sad if you weren’t at school, Locky,” John said sweetly, getting a few coos from the nearby parents. He was about to drag Sherlock into school when John remembered a book his sister had read to him when he was Sherlock’s age. “Here, hold out your hand.” Sherlock cocked his head to the side like a puppy. But he gave daddy his hand. John kissed every square inch. Sherlock giggled and squirmed. John smiled and closed Sherlock's hand. “Now, every time you need a hug or a kiss from daddy, just look in your hand.” Sherlock's eyes got wide and he looked intently into his hand. 

“Daddy it’s just my hand!” Sherlock said quizzically, scouring his palm for evidence. 

“Nope, there’s a kiss right there.” John pointed right to his hand and Sherlock looked at him worriedly. John only gave him another hug and took his other hand. They walked into the school and John directed him towards his classroom. 

“Sherlock! Good morning!” A dark-skinned woman with curly hair called when they got close. She gave the fist-clenched, curly haired boy an enthusiastic smile. He only looked at her shoes. 

“He’s a little shy this morning, Ms. Donavan,” He gave Sally a smile. “Don’t forget your lunch, mate,” John handed Sherlock his lunchbox which he had secretly tucked his book in when Sherlock was hiding. He gave him a wink, “Be good.”

Sherlock turned to take off his scarf and coat and put his lunch in his cubby. When he turned back daddy was gone, another dad dropping off another boy instead. Sherlock kicked himself internally. He should be used to this by now. He’d been in Year 3 for 6 months. Sherlock took a look around. Kids playing. Coloring. Laughing and talking loudly and it scared him. He wasn’t like the other kids and he hated that. He wished desperately that they’d want to play tag with him or let him play football at recess. Especially the boys. Sherlock wasn't good with other boys- they didn't like him very much. Despite having daddy and papa, Sherlock just, didn’t know what to say to them. Girls were usually better. They sometimes just wanted to color, and they even had let him play the boy doll in the dollhouse a few times. But on the whole, school did not strike his fancy. He knew everything they taught and he was already a year ahead. 

Once the parents stopped coming to the door, and Ms. Donavan had started helping out with art and scolding the rowdy ones did Sherlock start to worry. Where was Molly? He walked over to his teacher and tugged on her flowery skirt. She looked down at him sweetly. 

“Yes, Sherlock?” 

“W-w-here’s M-molly?” He said softly, looking down at his shoes. 

“She’s ill today Sherlock, but our craft is starting, so why don’t you go take a seat next to James?” Sherlock turned around defeated and took a seat at a table far away from James. He looked down at his hands folded in his lap and remembered something, he lifted his hands to his cheek and closed his eyes. He didn’t feel anything, but he knew the kisses were there. Suddenly he felt uneasy and he opened his eyes and saw who was next to him. James. 

“Hey Girly Sherly, whatcha doing with your hand there?” James taunted him as a few other kids snickered. Sherlock didn’t say anything he just folded his hands in his lap and swallowed. James came in real close and said, “My dad says your dad’s a queer, girly sherly” The other kids started laughing so loud that Ms. Donavan came over. Sherlock said nothing. If he did nothing, said nothing, felt nothing they couldn’t hurt him. Ms. Donavan gave James a hard look before she clapped to get everyone’s attention. 

“Alright, class, does anybody know what day this sunday is?” A few hands shot up. Sally looked around, and picked Louise. 

“Sunday!” The ginger girl shouted and everyone laughed. Donavan sighed. 

“Not quite, but thank you Louise. Any other guesses?” James gave Sherlock an evil grin and raised his hand. 

“Yes James?” 

“It’s Mother’s day, Ms. Donavan,” Jimmy said melodically, dark eyes locked with Sherlocks baby blues.

“You’re right, James! And now that you all know, you have no excuse!” Sally laughed and gave herself a mental pat on the back for her teaching abilities. “So we’re going to all tell our mothers what we love about them!” Sally started passing out the sheets. 

Sherlock looked at the sheet in front of him. _I love my mummy because….My mummy is so…..I love my mummy so much!_ His ears burned. He understood biology. Of course he had a mummy. He’d never actually thought about it till now. He wondered who she was. 

“Girly Sherly doesn’t have a mummy!” James teased and suddenly the whole class was laughing, and Sherlock could feel his heart beating so fast he thought he could burst. He tried so hard not to cry but suddenly tears came, and he cried and cried and cried. So he ran. He ran out of the door, Ms. Donavan shouting and running after him. He could still hear the laughing ringing in his ears, tears hot and sticky on his cheeks. _Your dad’s a queer. Sherlock doesn’t have a mummy. freak. Girly sherly._

It all caught up with him as he sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. Soon he was out of the school and out the front gate, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He ran for what felt like hours, ignoring passerby that gave him concerned looks or shouts. He ran until he found an alley and ran into and collapsed next to a big green bin and cried. He cried and cried and cried and tried to find the kiss in the palm of his hand.


	3. missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so freakin short sorry <3

John was at work. He was checking the heart rate of a sweet old woman with a bad hip when Sarah had burst in with a panicked look. John felt his stomach drop when he saw her. He knew something was very wrong. 

“Mrs. Taylor , please excuse Dr. Watson, Dr. Flemming will continue your exam.” John could feel his heart thrashing in his chest as he gave Mrs. Taylor a smile and exited into the hall. Ian slipped behind him to continue the exam. Sarah’s eyes were scaring him. 

“Sherlock’s school is on the phone.” John felt light headed as his heart beat out of his chest.

Greg’s train had just arrived at Paddington when his phone rang and he had a dark feeling. It was John. “Hey honey, I’m almost home-” He heard John sob on the other line. “Jesus Christ, John, what’s going on?” 

“Sh-She,” John’s voice cracked, “Sherlock’s missing. He ran away from school and we don’t know where he is.” Greg swallowed a lump of fear in his throat and put on his brave face. His son was on the streets of London, his perfect, beautiful brainy little boy was out there and there were so many bad people. It was his job to find all the bad people.

“It’s alright John, I’m on my way, where are you?” Greg willed his voice to remain calm, feeling his husband’s breath shaking through the phone. 

“I’m at his school, the police are-are here but nobody knows where he went, or if he went with someone. H-he, he just left. He doesn’t even have his coat, Greg, and he’s out there, and he’s alone, and and” 

“Love, deep breaths. I’m on my way, take deep breaths, we’ll find him. He’ll be alright.” Greg hailed a taxi and jumped in before it even stopped.

“Garden St School, NOW!” Greg yelled and the taxi sped away. 


	4. Chapter 4

It was getting dark, and Sherlock was scared. He had been in the alley for a while, but while he was examining an interesting spider, a woman in curlers came out of the building with a bag of rubbish and he ran. He was gonna be in so much trouble. He was sure that Papa and all the police and the helicopters were gonna find him and put him in jail. He wanted Papa. He wanted Daddy. He was walking, shivering. It was quite frosty out today, and he found himself in a busy part of town, people everywhere, shoulders pushing into him, noise and sounds and people and he felt anxious. 

_ Maybe I should go home.  _ He thought,  _ NO! No no no, Daddy and Papa would be so mad they’d send me away. They’d send me back to wherever they had found me. They’d throw all my things away and hate me forever and ever.  _ Sherlock started crying again, walking faster, going nowhere at all. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know where he was, he tried to think hard but his brain wouldn’t start. So he turned into another side street. He was starting to get overwhelmed. His heart was beating a wreck and he was so scared. He sat down on the sidewalk and pulled his knees to his chest and cried. 

“‘Ello little mate, whatcha doin all by yourself?” A voice said above him. Sherlock’s eyes slowly made his way up the strange man. He was a grown-up, but not as old as daddy, and his eyes were big and brown like Papa’s. He didn’t have hair. He was wearing a hat. Sherlock gulped. “It’s okay, you can talk to me, I’m, a...police officer. Undercover.” The man winked at him and Sherlock was skeptical. 

“You don’t look like one, and you’re not wearing a badge like my Papa. He’s a detective inspector.” Sherlock said proudly.

“Well, if I was wearing it I wouldn’t be undercover, right mate?” Sherlock felt his head muddling. That made sense. But he was uneasy to trust anyone. Daddy had said once after he had convinced an old man to let him ride the back of his electric wheelchair that he was  _ “never to go with a stranger. Ever.”  _ Sherlock shivered. He missed his daddy. He started crying again. 

“Oh, don’t cry, little fella, why don’t you come with me and I’ll help you find your papa, I probably know him. What’s his name?” 

“Greg I think, that’s what daddy calls him.” Sherlock whispered, shaking. 

“Oh, Greg! I know him!” The man said with a dark grin. Sherlock stood up and looked at him. 

“Can you take me to him?” Sherlock said hopefully. His heart leapt in his chest. 

“Of course! Come get in my car!” Sherlock skipped happily and slid in. He didn’t even notice that the doors were locked; he was so happy. He didn’t care if he went to jail, he missed his papa. 

John was getting so worried. It had been hours, practically all day since Sherlock had been seen by anyone. Plenty of time for someone.. _no_. He wasn't gonna think like that. He’s just lost. A gaggle of nuns found him and he's chatting them up having tea. He's chasing a bee. He’s sitting in the park. They’d already checked the park. They’d checked everywhere. 221b, the library, the park, the natural history museum, Greg’s mum’s house. Everywhere. Called everyone. Almost everyone. But just then a black cab pulled up and a tall silver haired man with puffy eyes stumbled out and ran to John. 

“Greg!” John cried, running to meet his lover on the sidewalk, he fell into his arms and Greg stroked his hair gently, wrapped tight around him. He gave him a small kiss on the cheek before pulling away and talking to the other officers. 

“Where the hell’s my son, Anderson?” Greg yelled at an unsuspecting forensics officer. 

“Sir, we don’t know yet, we’re still fighting the city to give us access to these security cameras.” Greg stroked his chin and made eye contact with John. John knew what to do. He pulled out his phone and dialed the number. 

“Hello, Mycroft?” 

“Who’s this?” An annoyed, out-of-breath man spat on the other end. Good it was him. 

“It’s John Watson, your little brother’s adopted dad. H-he’s in trouble, he ran away from school we need to know where he is. I figured- maybe you’d know somebody, or something, please, you’re the only person I knew to call” John said weakly, desperately. 

“Of course, John. But nobody can know I’m involved, for his sake.” 

“Of course, thank you so so much.” 

7 minutes of agony were ended with a loud ring. John had not expected the call to come back so quickly. “It’s him!” He whispered-shouted to Greg, and Greg’s eyes lit up hopefully. 

“John, I already have people on the way, Sherlock’s been abducted, I’m pretty sure I know where he’s going, I’ll send you the address.” The phone hung up and John was frozen. He looked to Greg with dark eyes. He licked his lips nervously before he stood straight, pushing the feelings down. He nodded. They needed to go to the address. 

“Come on, Greg, I think I know where he is.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya! just a warning, this chapter is rather graphic and could be triggering

Sherlock woke up slowly, eyes fluttering. He was naked. He was cold! He tried to move but he couldn’t, his wrists were duct taped together and his ankles too. He couldn’t remember what had happened after he had gotten into the car. Then he did. He’d been hit by a needle in the side of his neck. And it had gone black. He tried to register where he was. He was surprisingly calm. All the stress hormones had triggered endorphins, he thought, recalling that he’d read about that in his human body book just the other day. He felt strange that he was naked. He was only ever naked at home, and only with daddy or papa, or maybe his Nan or Mrs. Hudson. His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a door open behind him. The same man was there, with a scalpel and an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He was going to be murdered, Sherlock realized, and felt strangely intrigued by the man. A real life murderer, how fascinating! 

“So, little guy, tell me your name.” The man said as he flicked a lighter and lit the cigarette, the end glowing orange and red. Sherlock watched the glow intently, forgetting about the question. The man shoved the end of the cigarette into his collarbone and Sherlock screamed at the hissing, bubbling pain. “Name.” 

“Sh-Sh-erlock.” He whispered, breathing heavy. The man smiled. 

“What a pretty name for a pretty boy,” and soon he was right in his face. Sherlock felt his whole body shudder, and he felt himself dissociating.  _ I’m not here. I’m not here. Daddy’s got me. He’s got me and I’m in the bath and I’m a fruit roll-up and that's the only reason I am naked.  _

“But you’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you, Sherlock?” Sherlock felt tears welling up, tears that he willed so hard to dry up. He lit the cigarette again and stuck it into his skin, right between his chest and his tummy, twirling it around to put it out. He squealed in pain. “Haven’t you? Running away,” The man shook his head with a smile. “What a bad bad boy.” 

Sherlock was so confused to feel him, touching him, in a certain spot that felt wrong. It felt weird, and it felt wrong. It felt dirty and ugly and he suddenly felt so ashamed. Soon the man was touching him all over, and Sherlock screamed for help. 

“Daddy! Daddy! Papa! Help me! Papa! Please, help me, somebody help me!” The man only laughed and laughed. “What’s so funny?!” Sherlock said with tears running down his face.

“We’re underground, retard, nobody can hear you. Go ahead and scream.” Sherlock whimpered. The slid the scalpel across Sherlock's chest and that time Sherlock did scream. Blood dribbled down his tummy, onto his legs, and it hurt so much he barely saw his arm raise before man slapped him. Hard. His cheek stung so hard he didn’t even notice the man swing and slap on the other side. That one hurt more. Sherlock wriggled and writhed at his restraints, calling for help he was beginning to fear wasn’t coming. He heard the ring of the man’s belt buckle opening, and he shook like a leaf. He closed his eyes tight as he felt a rush of pain on his chest and a CRACK! The man had whipped him with his belt and it hurt! So bad! CRACK CRACK! He cried and cried, looking down at big red marks on his chest. Then one came on his face and his eyebrow split and began to bleed. “HELP ME! PLEASE!” 

“Your Daddy isn’t here, little boy, just me. And you.” Then, slowly, the hands began to work up his skin, pinching him as they went, till ten fingers wrapped around his neck and Sherlock was suddenly very very very scared. 

“DAADDY! PAPA! HELP!” Sherlock barely made out before he couldn’t speak, his neck was tight and he struggled against it, his lungs were empty and he was retching, needing air, but he couldn’t get one gasp, colors started covering his vision and the last thing he saw were those big brown eyes and an evil smile before it all went black. 

  
  


John was running. His legs were strong and he ran like he’d never run before. Greg was just behind them as they entered the abandoned building. “Sherlock?!” He cried loudly, running up stairs, opening every damn door in here, “Sherlock?!!!” He felt himself getting more and more desperate as he searched, and he scrambled down the staircase and realized there was an extra floor, a basement. His feet trounced on the metal stairs before he heard a curdling scream muffled by concrete and walls. “DADDY! PAPA! HELP!” His eyes widened and he sprinted, running down corridor after corridor in search of the sound till he saw it, one long curly black hair on the floor. He looked up, the door was locked. 

His fingers tightened around his weapon and he busted the door open, and he was so shocked to see the man standing over his naked, bloody son, he almost didn’t shoot the guy. But he did. The fucking pedophile was shot clean through the abdomen, and he shot him again in the left lung just to be sure it would be painful. He dropped to his knees besides his boy, he had welts and cuts on his chest and stomach, he had burn marks, and bruises around his neck. He had duct tape around his wrists and John needed to take a breath to keep from passing out. He knelt his ear down to Sherlock's mouth. He wasn’t breathing. _He wasn’t breathing_. Chest compressions. He began chest compressions, even and fast, with the perfect weight and placement. 100 per minute like a soldier. Tears were flowing from his eyes, and he prayed for the first time in a long time. He prayed that his boy would be okay.  _ Please, God, let him live, please, he’s just a kid, please let him live. _


	6. i love us too

Lestrade was just behind him, and his whole body froze when he saw them. The doctor and the patient. Husband. Son. a lot of blood. He closed his eyes before yelling at the other officers to call an ambulance.

He remembered the day they had gotten married. He remembered how all their friends were there, he remembered the look in John’s eyes when he had slipped the ring on. Those sweet saphire-blues. He remembered when they rented out the flat, the keys in their hands, young and crazy and in love- he remembered those first nights, takeout and movies and snogging. And he remembered when he had gotten the call. The British Government was calling.

“Detective Sergeant, I presume?” The man had said with a strange tone that weirded him out. 

“Yes, sir, what is it?” He had said, and he remembered John had been in the living room watching telly, drinking tea and letting out that silly, giggly laugh. 

“I know you are recently married,” Mycroft had stated abruptly, and Greg honestly was surprised. He didn’t think he’d even noticed when he had taken two weeks off for his honeymoon. 

“Uh, yes sir, I am.” 

“Well, I’ll be to the point, I have a baby brother. He’s 6 months old. And our parents have just died. Car accident. He’s not safe, with me, doing what I do, with countless people who would love to have a pressure point on me.”

“What, are you saying like, adopt him sir?” John’s eyes had snapped up when he said that. They’d been talking about it. They had even gone down to the agency and began filling out the forms. 

“Yes.” Greg looked at John, who mouthed,  _ “how old?!”  _ excitedly . “ _ Six months,”  _ Greg mouthed back. John’s eyes sparkled, and without second thought he nodded enthusiastically.

“We can do that, sir, thank you very much.What’s his name?” 

“Sherlock.” Mycroft had paused. “I love him deeply, and I trust you very much, Sergeant, both of you, to keep him safe.” 

Suddenly, little Sherlock coughed helplessly, eyes bursting open and taking a big breath in. John’s heart leaped into his throat and he let out a cry, pulling his son into a gentle hug, and pulled him into his lap. Sherlock smelled home, and he felt so safe here, daddy rocking him back and forth, whispering sweet things to him. 

“Shh, shh, love, you’re okay, you’re here, daddy’s got you, you’re okay. Papa’s here too,” Sherlock looked to Greg, who stood watching, and suddenly tears filled the father’s eyes. 

“Locky, we found you,” Papa whispered and Sherlock reached one hand out from John, and soon they were all together again, a family. Sherlock began to cry, the realization hitting him, the guilt and the dirtiness and the shame. 

“Daddy, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, please forgive me daddy,” Sherlock sputtered out and he couldn’t control the tears down his face. “I didn’t mean to run away and I got lost and then he hurt me and i cried and please don’t put me in jail, daddy,” 

“Locky, why would I do that, honey? You didn’t do anything wrong, this is not your fault at all. This was a bad guy, and bad guys always get caught. Don’t worry, baby, daddy’s got you.” 

“I really didn’t want to run away, daddy, I-I was a-at school and they were making mummy day cards and they laughed at me they laughed and laughed because I don’t have a mummy and I’m a freak.” Greg’s heart broke into a million pieces as he stroked his son’s hair. 

“Sherlock.” He said firmly and sweetly, causing those beautiful blue eyes to pop up and look at him, “Sherlock, you are not a freak. And maybe you don’t have a mummy, but you have your Nan, and Mrs. Hudson, and you have two dads, all the other kids only have one, and they’re just jealous,” Papa said with that handsome, manly smile that made Sherlock warm inside. Sherlock smiled. “I love you, papa, I love you dada,” He said softly before nodding off to sleep in the crook of John's neck. John stood up and put a hand under his legs to hold him, another to keep his back up. 

“We need to get to hospital” John said softly, and Greg nodded, planting a long kiss on John’s lips, sucking on his bottom lip in that way he did. John flushed. 

“I love you John, I love us.” Greg whispered. 

“I love you us too.” John smiled, and Sherlock let out a snore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to finish this up with an epilogue, thank you for any comments or suggestions! <3


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